Heart of Iron (7 page)

“No lies,” he warned, pointing a finger at her. The piece of letter was still crushed in his other fist. “Where did you get this?”

“I can’t tell you.”

Will put both hands on the bench behind her and leaned closer. Trapping her. “Don’t make me tell Blade.”

If Will talked to Blade, he would talk to Honoria and then Honoria…well, she would probably scream at Lena about how stupid she’d been, getting involved in such a thing.

“You’d run along and tattle on me?” She ignored the angry flare of molten-gold in his eyes. Will would never understand what she was trying to do, and she was very well aware of the dangers of involving other people.

Will caught her chin in his fingers. His lip curled back off his teeth. “This ain’t a game. I’d tell Blade because it’s clear you’re in over your ’ead. I seen somewhat like this before. On a man who burned the drainin’ factories down. Lena, they’re government owned! The Echelon will destroy whoever did this.” He waved the letter at her. “If it kept you from gettin’ your head cut off, then I’ll take a bloody full page out in the
Times
!”

“That almost sounds as if you gave a damn.”

Thought flickered through his hooded gaze. Indecipherable. She found she was holding her breath, which was ridiculous.

“I don’t want to see you hurt,” he said finally. “And your sister’d skin me alive if anythin’ happened to you and I’d known about it.”

Foolish, to think that he might have cared, even a little. Her shoulders slumped. “I promised a friend I’d deliver it for him. I had no idea what was inside it. I still don’t. That could be a laundry list, for all you know.”

“Let’s pretend I can’t smell it every time you lie to me.”

“That is the truth!” This was the hardest part of her cause—lying to her friends and family. But if she involved them now, who knew what might happen? Will was right. The Echelon would kill anyone they even suspected of being involved in this. She glanced uneasily at the letter. Mandeville had told her she was only dropping off meeting points and times to one of the other spies who worked within the Echelon.

She sent the letters by crow to some mysterious conspirator and received them for Mr. Mandeville. What if one of those letters had been instructions to burn the factories? She desperately needed to be alone, to think.

Suddenly, the world had become a far more dangerous place.

“Lena.” The growl that came out of his throat was almost primordial. The kind of sound you expected to hear in a snowy forest, late at night, alone. The kind of growl that sent shivers down her spine because she knew it meant she was the prey.

Run
, a little voice whispered.

“I—I—”

No longer content to play games, he gripped her chin and stared at her, his amber eyes burning right through her. Lena stopped breathing. She had nothing to fear—this was Will—but something in her, some unconscious part of her body, recognized danger when she saw it. The little hairs along her arms rose, her stomach turning to lead.

“I’m not—”

Laughter sounded on the stairs. Lena looked toward the door in relief as Blade’s housekeeper Esme and her husband Rip came through it.

Instantly Will straightened, his fingers slipping from her chin. He glanced away in order to hide his eyes from the newcomers and give himself a chance to leash the beast inside him. It rode close to the surface of his skin today, a predator beneath all those sleek muscles and powerful brawn.

“Lena!” Esme greeted, her black hair knotted back into a simple chignon. She took Lena’s hands and kissed her on the cheek. “I didn’t know you were visiting today.”

“It was a momentary decision,” Lena replied quickly. “You look well. Married life suits you.”

Esme smiled over her shoulder at Rip. The menacing giant had frightened Lena in the beginning, with his heavy mechanical arm and dark expression. In the first few months she’d lived at the warren with her sister and Blade, Rip had been suffering through the initial stirrings of the craving virus. She could remember his screams and the way he tore through his room in a rage. Not even Blade had been able to manage him and only Esme could calm him.

“And Will,” Esme said, with a faint note of scold in her voice. “I see you’ve been at my soup.”

“Honoria’s suggestion, I’m afraid,” Lena replied. She smiled sweetly as Will turned around. “He had an episode involving a fit of the vapors.”

If
looks
could
kill
…

But she was safe now, with witnesses in the room. When he got her alone—and he would, she knew—he might do anything to her.

Rip barked a laugh. “You fainted, boy-o?”

“I had to use my smelling salts,” she replied, sneaking her hat and gloves off the bench. Will’s eyes watched the movement, though his body and face never moved.

“Lena,” he said gruffly. “You’ll take a walk with me?”

Not
a
chance
. She shot him a charming smile. “I’m afraid I have to go. I have an appointment at the milliners. It was nice to visit, though. I’ll have to come more often.” Another blatant lie. She wouldn’t be coming back here unless absolutely certain Will wasn’t there.

He took a step toward her, but Esme was in the way. Will pulled up short, frustration flickering across his face. But he didn’t dare push past. Not with Rip standing guard over his wife and still overly protective.

“Until next time,” she said, staring him baldly in the face.

He was a long time replying. And when he did, she almost stepped back at the menace in his tone.

“It’ll be sooner than you think.”

***

Will slammed the door, his gaze raking the small apartment. It was where he lived, but it wasn’t home. It lacked the warmth and laughter of the warren. He tossed his coat aside and lit a candle, his breath steaming in the evening air. Despite a full afternoon dealing with Blade’s business in the rookery, the scent of honeysuckle still clung to his clothes.

He scowled and found a piece of leftover pie in the icebox. He didn’t want to be thinking of that. Lena thought she’d gotten away from him today, but she had forgotten one thing.

Will always got his prey. In the end.

What the hell was the fool girl up to? Carrying around such a potentially devastating document? If anyone in the Echelon found her with that on her person, there’d be questions. If they knew what it meant, then she’d be executed.

Cold punched through him at the thought. Her laughter and teasing, forever cut short. Though her presence made him uneasy, he never wanted to see her harmed. In fact, the very thought made his hackles rise and the berserker rage threaten to spill out over him.

He’d never felt this way before. One glimpse of her and every primitive need rushed to claim him, threatening to overwhelm his careful defenses.

The mere thought of her in danger…

He stopped. Put his fork down. The vein in his temple throbbed as he sucked in a deep breath. Then another.
Don’t think about it
. Not until he had himself under control.

Whenever that might be. With a gruff laugh, he picked up the fork again and stabbed it into the pie. As he bit into the flavorsome meat, a sound caught his attention from the stairs outside.

Someone sneaking up to his door.

Someone preternaturally quiet.

Sliding the fork into a stronger grip, he held it low against his thigh and crossed silently to the door. Leather flavored the air, but no personal scent. A blue blood then. They lost their distinctive smell when they became infected with the craving.

Will ripped the door open and stepped forward, grabbing the intruder by the throat and slamming him up against the wall.

A hand caught his wrist, the thumb digging into the tendons just hard enough to ease his grip. “Truce,” Blade said hoarsely. “If I wanted you dead you wouldn’t a ’eard me comin’.”

Will let him go with a scowl of disgust. “Bloody hell. You should be in bed.” He stepped back. “Does Honoria know where you are?”

“Of course. Can’t you ’ear the argument ringin’ still?” Blade loosened his collar. “I’m not a feeble ole man. And I can’t afford to be trapped in bed for the next half week.”

“You’re puffin’ like a bellows.”

“I’ll catch me breath.” Blade peered past him. “You’re a mite skittish there, Will. Got somethin’ on your mind?”

He gestured Blade inside, then closed the door behind them. This whole thing with Lena had him on edge, expecting blue bloods in every shadow. “What’s the problem? You’re not one for social visits.”

Blade cocked his hip on the table and crossed his arms. “Ain’t I welcome?” The words were quiet, but the glint in Blade’s eyes spoke of a whole lot of other things.

Will slammed into his chair and picked at the pie. He’d lost his appetite. “Don’t be a fool,” he muttered. “You’re always welcome.”

A steady gaze, watching him. Then Blade sighed. “What do you make o’ this?” He withdrew a scroll from his pocket and tossed it toward Will.

Who snatched it out of the air. Unrolling it, he held the parchment up to the light. The letters were slanted and looping. And written in gold.

“‘The Council of Dukes requests your presence at Lord Harker’s ball tomorrow night at eight,’” he read slowly, fumbling with the words. “‘The house will be considered neu-neutral territory for the evenin’. Bring the Beast. He shall receive safe passage for the night.’”

Lowering it, he met Blade’s gaze. “A trap?”

Blade scratched at his jaw. “Don’t think so. But it’s a game play of some sort. Damned if I can work it out.” Their eyes met. “Or why they’re involving you.”

“Well.” Will crushed the parchment in his fist. “I don’t owe ’em nothin’. And neither do you.”

“Aye. But what do they want?” Blade scowled. “I ’ate these bloody games. Dare I ignore it? It could be anythin’.” With a sigh, he eased away from the table. “I ain’t expectin’ you to come. It’s dangerous for you, that world—”

A thought struck him. Lena was certain to be in attendance. This was precisely her sort of thing. And the last place she’d be expecting to see him.

Thought
you
could
run, did you?

“It’s dangerous for both of us,” Will corrected slowly. “You go, I go.” He was Blade’s bodyguard in all matters. “And I’ve other business to see to there. Might as well take up their kindly offer of safe passage and see what the bastards want.”

“Wouldn’t ’appen to be business of the petticoat variety?”

Will shot him a dark look.

“You need a woman,” Blade added bluntly.

The words conjured an image: dark hair, dark eyes, a wicked little smile. His cock clenched. “The last thing I need’s a woman.”

“You need somethin’ then.” Blade’s gaze roamed his meager surroundings. “You ought to come ’ome, Will. It’s a cold, lonely place. You don’t belong ’ere.”

I
don’t belong anywhere
.
Not
really
. He looked away, his shoulders stiffening. “We’ve had this discussion. The answer’s no.”

A long, drawn out sigh met his ears. “Aye. I’ll leave you to it then. Just you and the mice. Be ready then, tomorrow at six. Oh, and Will?”

“Aye?”

“Wouldn’t ’urt to ’ave a shave.”

Five

“I need some air,” Lena said, fanning her flushed face. The peacock feathers brushed against her lips, but she ignored them, her gaze following the handsome young Duke of Malloryn as he escorted the Duchess of Casavian out of the ballroom.

Both were heads of their Houses and members of the ruling Council of Dukes. And since the Duke of Goethe had retired barely five minutes ago, she could only presume that they were meeting to discuss something important.

Hopefully the Scandinavian matter.

Adele downed a glass of iced lemonade. “Is that wise?”

Green eyes met hers, the hard look in them turning wary for a moment. Lena squeezed her hand. “He’s not here. I checked.”

“Don’t blind yourself, Lena. Colchester’s not the only danger.”

Lena nodded. The room swept around her in a riot of color as the crowd danced. Around the walls loomed a dozen blue bloods, sipping at their blud-wein and watching the dance floor with predatory eyes. “You’ll be safe?”

“They’re not the only ones hunting.” Adele smiled, but it didn’t touch her eyes. “I told you I need a patron.”

“Be careful.” Lena squeezed her gloved hand. The duke and duchess had disappeared. Giving Adele one last smile, she hurried after them.

The duchess had been wearing a deep aubergine gown that set off the color of her coppery hair. Lena exited the ballroom. Peering over the balustrade of the second floor, she raked her gaze across the white tiled entry below. An enormous staircase took up most of the foyer. Over a dozen men and women lined the stairs and the entry, gowned in a variety of brilliant colors. From the warmth of their skin and the dark, raven locks on a pair of them, they were most likely human, none of them high enough in rank to receive the gift of infected blood. Only those of good bloodlines and standing went through the blood rites at the age of fifteen. It was a sign of status, of prestige.

It took more than being a blue blood to be considered part of the Echelon. Any other unfortunate who was accidentally infected was considered little more than a rogue. Such blue bloods were either drafted into the Nighthawks, offered a place in the Coldrush Guards that protected the Ivory Tower and the Council, or were killed.

Humans could navigate the shadowy edges of the Echelon—like her—but they were never truly a part of it. They had their place, either as thralls or potential consorts, if their bloodlines were good.

Avoiding the soaring marble statue of an angel, she peered down the hallway. Two dozen of Lord Harker’s distinguished relatives glared down at her from the walls. Lena swept across the top of the stairs, her peacock green skirts rustling. There was another hallway on the other side.

She was just passing the enormous grandfather clock that held pride of place at the top of the stairs when a hush fell over the foyer.